


Beasts and Bloodsport

by Foxflannel



Series: Beasts and Bloodsport [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Arena fights, Blood and Gore, Bondage, Chains, Cole Was an Adult, Collars, Depression, Eventual Smut, Gambling, Heavy Angst, M/M, Master/Pet, Mental Health Issues, Mind Control, Petplay, Transformation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-07-04 20:17:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15848601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foxflannel/pseuds/Foxflannel
Summary: Androids have found a new use for their freedom in the form of gambling.  Not just any old gambling, however; arena battles, usually to the death.  Androids using their own werewolves, trained with a collar that syncs with their LEDs, to fight.  Some do it for honor, others for fun.  But what happens when clashing interests battle as easily as fangs and claws in the blood-soaked arena?





	1. Chapter 1

The furry beast hit the concrete floor and skid, sending a trail of blood smearing along the floor, the crowd erupting into thunderous applause and screaming. Another furry beast charged it, biting down onto its neck with fanged jaws and shaking, sending the injured beast into a flailing mess of paws and claws as it scrambled to free itself from the chokehold.

The spotlights turned to flood the creatures in light, carving through the dark arena with efficiency. It bathed the spiked cage in light, the underground arena in full view. Outside of the cage stood androids, dozens of them, LEDs a whole rainbow of color as those who bet either earned their next betting fortune or walked out with empty pockets.

Detroit's main form of entertainment these days was mostly football or baseball. For the humans, anyways. For androids, they took to other dangers: werewolf fighting. Androids didn't have to worry about a bite or a scratch; it was an easy fix and repair. Could get chomped to shit and still be an android in the morning. Their new pet, however, wasn't so lucky. On nights like these, they sported a metal collar that, when applied, only the owner android could control with their LED. A simple command. Get up and fight and live another day or go die in the corner.

The bloodsport happened to turn even the nicest of androids into cold spectators, hoping to see their pockets fill with cash. A sport revolving around analytical calculations and risks, probabilities they could preconstruct, even taking into consideration blood loss and wounds and what the best course of action was. There were thousands of humans who paid good money to watch and offer up their own werewolf: whether it was a friend or family member or even themself, it no longer mattered. All that mattered was the roar of the crowd and the howl of the loser, broken and battered on the floor.

Normalcy was for the rest of the month, but once the moon grew swollen and bright in the sky, that's when things got interesting. Akin to horse racing and even other sports, there were MVP werewolves, and the more scarred they were the better. The symbol of a fighter, of a survivor. Normally, it was three fights, one after the other, a three versus three. But today, it was only one versus one. A lack of wolves but a surplus of gamblers. Not good odds.

The loser wolf was being tended to by its owner, the creature twitching and panting deeply. Bleeding out all over its android's lap who simply pet its fur and removed its collar. It wouldn't need it anymore. Another android set into the arena to begin mopping the blood and sanitizing the area while the winning wolf was pulled away and yanked by chains on its neck to the entrance of the arena's dome.

 

Stepping into the waiting room of the arena, Connor walked to the registration counter and wrote down his details as usual, getting a sympathetic look from North, who simply flipped her hair and leaned across the counter on her arms.

“Here again, rookie?” she asked, cocking him a grin.

“Yes, I am,” he said, hand trailing across the paper and filling out his usual information, “Are you going to actually bet on a good fighter this time?” he retorted.

“That depends; Markus isn't here yet, but I heard he found a good one. Been working with it this whole month. Carl wasn't too happy about it, but, I think that his son's old enough to make that decision for himself.”

“Markus is training Leo?” Connor asked, quirking his eyes up to look at her briefly.

“Well, you know how much money a good wolf can make, I'd imagine he has his reasons.”

“I suppose so. Not many werewolves would willingly fight here,” Connor stated.

“True,” North said, reaching for his papers to punch them in. “But he also got bitten purposely so he's been thinking about it for a long time now.” North's fingers trailed across the paperwork, LED flickering as she took in the information before she paused. “Are you sure about this...?”

“About what?” Connor asked.

“Your werewolf, it's...it's not related to the last one, is it?”

Connor adjusted his tie a little and stood up straight. “Actually, it is.”

“Little morbid even for you, Connor. But rules are rules. Is he collared?”

“No, not yet. I came here to get one. I think I need to get him fitted. Is Luther around?”

“Probably in the back, have at it.”

Connor nodded, took his punch card, and slipped into the back room. It was the workings of a warehouse; nothing but steel beams and shelves and tools cluttered around. But it made what they needed a lot easier to store and was large enough for plenty to be stored for the future. As usual, Luther was in the back, talking to a little girl, heating up a large piece of metal as he spoke. The girl had a huge grin on her face, hair pulled up into a loose bun falling onto her neck.

“Hello, Luther,” Connor called, stepping over some wiring and metal scraps. The larger android turned, gave a little wave.

“Hey, there,” he replied, hoisting Alice onto his shoulder easily and walking towards him. “What do you need this time?” he asked.

“Collar, a big one.”

“How big we talking?” Luther asked, heading towards the ones he made in the edge of the room. Each one was thick and metal with a dark rim. On the front was a large bar across the center where it closed and two dull glass domes. When attached, the lights would turn on and, when commanded, the lights on the collar would change to whatever the android's LED was. An order would shock the wolf if it didn't comply. Since werewolves had high pain tolerance, it never left lasting damage and was akin to a static shock in many regards. Some wolves needed stronger prodding.

“Um...” Connor looked at all the collars and measurements before pointing at a large one on the side. “That one should be sufficient.”

“You using a bear to fight?” Luther clicked his tongue. “I didn't take you as the cheating type, Connor.”

Connor just huffed a breath of a laugh and shook Alice's hand, beginning a quick game of rock, paper, scissors. “No, not a bear. But pretty close. I think he's ready for a fight.”

“That's good. Where's your other half?” Luther asked, grabbing the collar and bringing it over to his anvil, putting Alice back down and looking for his grinder belt.

“Nines? I don't know. I don't think he'll ever come. Something like this is up his alley but I don't believe he likes the gambling aspect. He's never lost a bet, though, he always gets the winner right even after a few seconds of seeing them. He could be the richest one here if he wanted to be.”

Luther nodded, filing down a jagged collar edge to smoothness. “Honestly, he could watch them at home and you'd never know.”

“I doubt it,” Connor replied. “He's too busy working to really care. He could dominate this place, though.”

“Well,” Luther puffed out air and brushed some metal shavings from the collar with the meat of his hand. “Maybe it's for the best he doesn't come here; I don't think you'd enjoy being a sore loser.”

Connor gently slapped his back and laughed with the taller android.

“Give me some credit, Luther, you know I do what I can to stay on top. I'm a detective, I'm supposed to be analytical.”

“That's where he's got you beat.” Luther gives him a crooked smirk and hands him the collar carefully. “Has he been “chipped” yet?”

“Yes, he has,” Connor replied. “All set a few months back.”

“Few months? And you're just bringing him in now?”

“We hit some snags,” Connor admitted, running his finger along the cold steel band. “But it should be good now, he's ready. You going to watch?”

“Once Alice is off to bed, I'll be there. I promise.”

“Okay. Number 51!” Connor calls from the stairwell as he climbed to the exit.

 

“And...there. How does it feel?” Connor asked, clipping the collar across the man's neck. He was a large man, tall and very wide. Thick and strong, a firm stomach and arms. Age showed across his face, his long silver hair brushed out of his vision by Connor's delicate fingers. The goatee twitched a little as the man's large hand touched the metal surface and gave a tug. Even for his statue and size, the collar was very loose currently. He would quite literally grow into it.

“S'okay I guess,” he managed, deep growl to his voice. “Any reason why I have to wear it?”

“Protocol.” Connor replied, fiddling with a clasp. “No android is allowed to have a wolf without one. If something happens, it's to make sure that nobody else can get hurt. Not that it really matters; androids can't exactly die. It's more for the humans that come to watch.” he explained.

“Huh,” the man ran a hand down his beard. “Makes sense. And what about the microchip? I ain't a fucking stray dog.”

“The collar doesn't work without it, it's magnetized. They work together. We control the chip and the chip sends signals to the collar.”

“Like a TV remote.” the man said.

“Yeah, kind of.” Connor replied with a smile. “Okay, all done. How do you feel?”

“Pissed.”

“Understandable. You should be up soon. Once they call for you, go with them, okay?”

“I'm not a fucking child, Connor, I know how to walk down a fucking hallway.”

“Protocol,” Connor said again, giving the collar a final tap to prove his point and standing up straight. “I'll be in the crowd. If you win, booze is on me.”

The bigger man laughed and shook his scraggly head. “It always is, Con.”

 

The door of the arena opened and a tall android stepped inside, a simple black dressed man with a dress shirt, the collar pressed high to his throat. Blue eyes scanned the crowd until it fell on a familiar face and, pushing gently past the bustling crowd of android and human, he found his way to the front. A dark android was there, taking money, talking to a few people.

Nines stepped close and tapped one on the shoulder, the android spinning before pausing, face twisting into recognition.

“You actually came!”

“I was in the area,” Nines spoke. He glanced down at his twin-model and gave a small upturn of his lips. He glanced at the stack of cash in the android's hands, smelled the metal on his fingers. “A new collar? What for?”

Connor said nothing for a long moment and turned away slightly from view. “There was a little incident a few months back, and--”

Nines looked over at Connor, who was counting his current stack of cash to give to the tender and he clicked his tongue. Connor rolled his eyes and pointed at the grizzled man in chains down below, the silver mop of bloody hair plastered to the man's face as he glared at the floor despite the roaring crowds. A sign hung far above out of his reach: Number 51, Hank Anderson.

“His son wasn't good enough. He had the spirit, had the energy, but he was inexperienced and it cost him,” Connor admitted. “I needed a werewolf that won't die on me in the first fight.”

“So you went for the father?” Nines questioned, glancing at the light-bathed man down below between the thrashing and impatient bodies, cheering for their next match. LEDs glowed in a wave of blues, yellow and red.

Connor nodded, a twinkle in his eyes. “If a werewolf's broken enough, what more could he lose?”

“Did you choose him purely based on his size or is there something else that you are not leading on about?” Nines asked. Always the astute one.

“He...ran into some debt problems. They took his son from him and purposely pit him against someone way out of his league. It got his son killed, and I felt I was to blame.”

“So it is a sort of revenge?” Nines questioned.

“Yes and no. Once he pays off his debt, they're gonna let him see the body and say his goodbyes. Until then, well...” Connor pointed at the arena, frowning. Hank was sitting on his knees and plucking idly at his baggy sweatpants, the crowd preparing for the next fight. His opponent hadn't been chosen yet. “He chose this for himself.”

“Humans are willingly choosing to die for a sport?”

“There are those who can control themselves, you know,” Connor said, looking down the pit at Hank. “They're not supposed to die here. It's supposed to be like boxing or martial arts. Just enough to have someone yield or be knocked out and recover. Lately, things have gone too far. Deaths used to be rare in the pits.”

“I see. Interesting.” Nines took a brochure from nearby and glanced it over. The current fighters for tonight, their statistics, their win/lose ratio, strengths and weaknesses. He glanced it over and saw a TBD next to hank's name and portrait. “Why has he not been given an opponent?”

“Hank's one of a kind.” Connor beamed.

The crowd roared as another gate opened in the front of Hank, a good thirty or so meters away. A caged door slowly began to open and another person stepped outside. They were a larger man, somewhat chubby, greasy hair and faded tattoos. He was wobbling, probably drunk from the festivities and wanted in. Much like Hank, he wore extremely loose sweatpants and nothing else, feet slapping along the concrete ground stained brown from old blood.

“Ladies and gentleman!” a familiar voice rang out. North's. “Match eleven is about to begin. Make sure all bets are made within the next two minutes or they'll be considered forfeit.”

A rush of last-minute bodies scrambled towards them, bills wadded and in hand. Nines stepped closer to the cage and looked down below from the VIP box. Hank was breathing deep through his nose and looking over at his opponent who was saying something, presumably a taunt. Hank seemed a little angered but did nothing else but breathe. Psyching himself up perhaps.

Connor came to his side and looked up at his twin-model.

“So what do you think?”

“I know nothing of the newcomer,” he said, eyes measuring the man up and down. “However, Hank is a trained police force member. I believe that experience will come in handy for him in the long run. What is his ratio?”

“I don't know,” Connor replied. “Hank hasn't fought yet.”

A bell tolled out three times and the crowd grew impossibly loud. A flash of rainbow colors from LEDs, the screams of the excited wave of humans and androids alike.

“Fighters, take your places! Betting is now complete, so please make it to your seats!” North's voice rang out just barely louder than the crowd even with the speaker system. Connor inhaled deep, LED flashing yellow. Down below, Hank's collar followed suit, churning from blue to yellow as he walked forward. Connor wasn't controlling him, however, but the collar was in-sync.

“Let us see how he fares, then.” Nines spoke.

The bell chimed out again and the crowd swelled, fists hitting the sky and people jumping up and down beside them. Nines sneered at the childish behavior but turned his attention towards the newcomer, who had stripped his sweatpants and was shifting, collar flashing red. It was hard to determine who was controlling him in a wave of LEDs of three colors, but the handler was nearby. 

A ripple of muscle roiled beneath the newcomer's skin, the loud snap of bones audible even amidst the crowd's roars. The man cautiously moved to all fours, the pop of bone beneath his skin making his fingers scratch and dig at the concrete floor, bloodying his human nails. He was yelling, the sound deepening and sounding frantic. Animalistic. Terrifying. Hank didn't seem phased. In the slightest, still breathing deep, sending some stray silver strands rippling.

The newcomer's head hit the ground, his screams muffled into whimpers as fur began to sprout like grass across his body. Blood pooled from his mouth, teeth starting to loosen from the gums as sharper versions pushed them out. His jaw was too small; the teeth were crowding, losing places to grow. Overlapping until his mouth pushed outwards in a grimace, nostrils turning to slits and widening as a black color overtook it. He was writhing on the ground, his collar turning blue. He didn't need to be controlled for this; nature was running its course.

Sighing, Hank stood up and slapped his knees, dusting them off dramatically before he turned his nose up at the newcomer and, with a flex of his thick chest, a ripple lowered itself down his body. Where the newcomer's shift was slow, Hank's was faster. Knees bending and ripping through the sweatpants as he bulked, body edging to all fours as his legs twisted and elongated, toes becoming thick paws. He grimaced, snarling, his big toe breaking formation and sliding up onto his heel. Silver fur was already growing as he tore off the remnants of his sweatpants, tattoos and scars from his youth fading even further as the expanse of fur overtook it.

The newcomer was finishing their change, tail sprouting from an abused spinal cord, mouth still leaking blood from the teeth growing in. The werewolf was another foot larger than the human had been, still chubby, somewhat muscular. The greasy hair gave way to long, grey-brown fur, yellow eyes darting around the arena, joining the glow of the LEDs.

Hank, however, was smiling, smashing his knuckles together briefly before his fingers grew too thick, paw-like hands dropping back to the concrete. Where the newcomer's jaw ran out of room, Hank's did not, growing outward rapidly before the teeth began to slide out. Hank rubbed his hands against his jaws as if to itch away the sensation of fangs, but before the teeth could finish, he grunted. Doubling over and holding his stomach, he vomited out the last of his dinner, some of the crowd laughing and others cheering. 'Moon sickness' it was quite literally called.

The newcomer's collar flashed yellow. Waiting. He was waiting. Connor glanced over to his left and finally caught sight of a familiar face. An AX400. Of course.

Hank toppled back and landed on his side, tugging desperately at the collar. Something wasn't right, and Connor and Nines both knew it. The collar flashed red as Connor did and, with a hiss, the collar extended a little, an audible breath escaping the man. His thick fur and neck were something Connor couldn't account for and if a collar was deemed large by Luther's standards, then maybe he needed something bigger. He forced the thought away for a later time.

Where the newcomer was only slightly larger, Hank was a literal tank, his frame humanoid save for a wolfs face, flews sagging much like a bear's own lips. He was massive and silver, blue eyes carving the arena's darkness. Hank's nose worked overtime, sniffing, his head snapping upwards to Connor's spot in the arena and he gave some sort of shaky nod.

“Connor,” Nines said, glancing down at Hank. “There's already a problem with the combatants.”

“What do you mean?” Connor asked. Bleeding was normal after a werewolf shift, he couldn't see the problem Nines was referring to. 

“Look at Hank's claws.” Nines simply said. Beneath the werewolf's bulk, Connor noticed the paws, as large and intimidating as the man's hands in human form. The claws were normal. He looked back to Nines as if to ask but the battle had begun. The newcomer charged at Hank and was easily knocked aside, Hank using his bulk to grab and fling the beast away, using its own momentum against it.

The crowd cheered as the newcomer hit the metal bars of the arena and caused an audible rattle that could be felt even on the opposite side. The newcomer growled and shook, collar flashing from yellow to red, and he charged again, this time barreling into Hank's belly and knocking him to the side, who gave a quick snap of his jaws but missed the newcomer's neck entirely. Connor paused. Nines glanced down at the arena and sighed, crossing his arms behind his back.

“Hank is keeping his claws out and they curve; this is removing his traction and causing him to scrape. He can do damage, yes, but he cannot evade properly. His claw tips will snag on the other indents in the concrete and cause considerable damage.”

Connor glanced down and blinked. Nines was right. Hank had trained, sure, but it was on his own turf, in the city in a warehouse. He didn't have to worry about variables and relied on his pure bulk to get him through. In a fight like this, fast-paced, he was damaged. Outmaneuvered. Connor's LED flashed yellow as Hank's collar did and the man got up, assumed a better stance, and charged the newcomer to the wall with another audible clang. The arena erupted again.

“You are using his strengths and avoiding his weaknesses, Connor. It really is no wonder that you lost his son.”

The newcomer snapped its jaws and grabbed Hank by the neck, right below the collar. Hank roared, swung, slammed his head to the ground to detach the werewolf currently latching on and reaching with paw-like hands to grab his arms away. He was going for the underbelly.

“Connor.” Nines said, sternly.

Hank's LED flashed red and Connor shut his eyes. A loud thud echoed, Hank dropping his body onto the wolf, and he began to drag himself quite literally, scraping the wolf's spine into the ground. The newcomer let go with a yelp, tufts of bloodied fur lying in a trail beneath Hank's form. The newcomer clambered to four legs, glancing towards the crowd for its handler and with that second, Hank charged, claws clicking along the concrete with the force of a train, bowling into the newcomer and sending them both rolling to their sides.

Some androids cheered, others flash red. Connor hesitated. In training, Hank had taken care of the wolves easily, but now he was having difficulty. The newcomer was chubby, it was true, and much smaller than Hank was. That was the disadvantage and Nines knew it. Was Hank going to lose again this fresh fighter?

“Connor,” Nines said, extending his whitened hand, flesh burning away with a loud sound. Connor took it, got a quick jolt of electricity, the information Nines wanted him to see flashing quickly into his mind palace. That was it. Pulling the connection, Nines glanced back down at the fight and Connor gauged the command. A brutal charge from the newcomer and Hank widened his stance, snarling, peeling back his flews to reveal jagged yellowing fangs. Wait. Wait patiently. Hank's blue eyes pierced the darkness.

The paws of the newcomer were clattering along the ground and Hank's muscles tensed, the order stiff in his mind. Don't move and wait. He was fighting the urge to swing out, to charge the wolf with his own shoulder. But as the newcomer got closer, Hank understood and dropped his shaggy head until there was a collision. The wolf hit his shoulder—hard--launching into the air with a spin. Taking that opportunity, Hank reared up and brought down a massive paw into the creature's stomach, slamming it onto the concrete with such force there was a sickening crunch, a yelp, blood spurting across Hank's broad, silver chest.

The wolf kicked out and stilled. Breathing rapidly, catching its breath. It was bleeding, it was in pain, scrabbling to get up. But it was over. The crowd erupted again into applause and the newcomer was dragged out. Hank, however, took a few gulps of air, sniffed the blood on his chest, and turned away with a grimace, heading towards the arena's entrance. Connor turned back at his twin, but the android had already turned away.

 

“Thank you,” Connor said, meeting his twin outside who was seemingly waiting for him. Hank was currently wearing an oversized jacket and some pajama bottoms, shoes stuffed into slippers. Enough to keep the Detroit winters at bay but not enough to keep him fashionable and toasty. It would be fine when the taxi arrived. 

“For what?” Nines said, glancing down at Connor's hand holding a large stack of dollar bills. Hank didn't have pockets at the moment so his winnings were given to Connor for safe keeping.

“For your help. If you didn't notice what Kara's wolf was capable of, I...might have lost Hank, too.”

“Not a chance in hell, kid,” Hank sniffled, cuddling into himself deeper. Connor gave him a small smile as a large hand pat him on the back. Nines simply adjusted his footing and glanced at the snowflakes dusting the dirty street.

“Well, I must say, that was rather...interesting. When is the next fight?”

“You care about this shit?” Hank asked. He didn't look like he bought it. Nines shrugged a little, hummed.

“It has its merits. Personally, I dislike the bloodsport. However, there is a certain intrigue in knowing the statistics of a fighter against another fighter's and seeing how they fare against each other. There is a slight discrepancy when it comes to their fighting abilities as well. A stronger fighter is not guaranteed a victory.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hank grumbled, wiping his nose on his sleeve. He looked tired. The shift took a lot out of him, as it did with all werewolves. He would go home, eat, and probably sleep, holding off on bathing until the morning.

“Next month. They're held every full moon here, this is the largest location and one of the few the police stay away from.” Connor assisted. Hank stared up at the moon and sighed.

“Not that we stay away from it; most of our guys enjoy watching that shit, too. If we shut them down, a lot of us lose out on our 'bonuses', and the other half lose out on getting some steam blown.” Hank replied. The taxi slowly pulled in next to them, automated and sliding its doors open.

“Need a ride?” Connor asked. Nines shook his head.

“No, I came here with someone. I will be heading back with them.”

“Oh...okay then. Thanks again, Nines, I'll see you at work.” Connor said with a wink, helping Hank inside who groaned loudly and covered a wound on his stomach. Hank gave a weak little wave and the doors slid shut, the taxi given its destination and peeling slowly into the road.

Nines looked back at the dingy arena and gave a little quirk of eyebrows. It was a dingy parking garage turned arena. Underground, in the middle of nowhere. Easy to hide cars, easy to muffle sounds. Nobody particularly cared about the building and he frowned at the cracked side of the concrete wall.

The back double doors opened slowly and a man stepped out, sniffling and cursing, folding his arms as the wind bit at his reddening face.

“So? What do you think?” Nines asked. The man gave a short laugh and glowered upwards at the same moon Hank had, frowning.

“That fight was absolute bullshit,” the man replied, tapping his hoodie pocket, currently bulging. A fat stack of cash from a bet. 

“But you still won, correct?” Nines asked. The taxi was en route. The flick of a lighter, the man cupping it to his face as he lit up a small cigarette half. He inhaled, held it, felt the burn in his lungs until he exhaled and drowned out the moon.

“Yup. Easy rent money. Thanks, Anderson,” he chided. Tossed Nines a lopsided grin as the wind blew his hair from under his hood. “I'd like to try my hand at knocking his ass down a peg.”

“We have a lot of work to do, then,” Nines replied, watching their taxi pull up. “Do you think you could handle him?”

“That old fuck? Of course,” Gavin grinned, taking a final drag of his cigarette and crushing it against the wall with a flourish. “After all, he was just recently bitten. I was born like this. I'd like to see him try and fight someone who's had years of practice in this shit.”

“I see,” Nines said, letting the man enter the taxi first. “Then we will work for the next month and you can see who is superior.”

Gavin gave a scoff, glanced over at Nines with dark-grey eyes and grinned, “That'll make two of us, won't it? Who's really better: the earlier model or the new one?”

“You know as well as I do the answer to that, Gavin.”

Gavin gave a little nod, threw off his hood. Rested his chin on his palm and watched the moon chase their car through the snow.


	2. Snarl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin and Nines hit the gym for training. A brief foray into Hank's affliction and a promise of tomorrow.

“So?”

“So what?”

Gavin glanced over the lip of his water bottle and cocked an eyebrow at the male speaking to him, a small grasp of annoyance on his features.

“Your RK buddy. This gonna become a thing every week or what?”

Gavin glanced over at the android standing with its arms crossed, currently watching the happenings at the gym. He was slotted against the wall in between three sparring rings, two currently in use. One with two women, one with two males, both relatively larger heavyweights currently going ballistic at each other's faces and chests. Though Nines was saying nothing, his eyes were moving quickly and documenting their movements, swings, and body conditions.

Even now, the android was gambling. Preconstructed visuals of who will win in any given situation. His intense stare melted away and he glanced at the floor just as one of the men hit the mat, down for the count. A simple formula for the android but for someone like Gavin, the males may as well have been equally matched.

“Nah.” he said, dragging himself away from the blue-eyed android now glancing towards the women beginning their spar. “Brought up that you and I would be here training and he said, and I quote, 'then I will accompany you and see your progress' or some shit like that. I dunno. Not about to be told how to fucking fight by an android who gets socked once hard enough and his face flies off like an old cellphone back piece.”

Leo laughed at that and fought hard to keep the water in his mouth instead of the floor in a spew. He composed himself enough to swallow before coughing and punching his chest, licking his lips through his grin.

“When that ever happens in the bedroom, you be sure to let me know, Gav.”

“Fuck yourself, Manfred.”

“Big talk for someone who's about to get their teeth kicked in.”

Gavin opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by Tina's voice instead. She was walking up to the mat with a gleeful grin, tote bag over her shoulder and a porcelain-light hand in her own.

“Oh my god, do you fuckheads ever stop with the foreplay?”

“Ew,” Leo recoiled and scrunched his nose up, deciding he'd rather invest his time in setting up his boxing gloves. Gavin instead rolled his eyes and slogged over to the ropes, resting his arms over the front of them and smiling.

“Careful, Noah, you're in the splash zone,” Tina said through a laugh just as Gavin dipped his head and shook the sweat from his hair, slightly curly from the moisture, sending beads of liquid flying. “God, do you have to be this gross?!”

“Only to you,” Gavin retorted. The RT600 android simply stepped back and laughed. It had only been a few months since she and Tina had started dating but she was already used to Gavin's childish antics whenever they were around. However, he was unsure if she was simply used to him because of Tina or because it had been one of the first androids his half-brother had created years ago. Regardless of how the android felt, she seemed to have no qualms about Gavin and even traded tit for tat when it came down to it.

“The fuck're you two doing here?” Gavin asked, fumbling for his towel on the edge of the rope banister. Tina shrugged and tightened her ponytail, thumbing towards the ring where the females were currently grappling with a coach shouting commands.

“Me and Noah are gonna do some training. How about you idiots?” she asked.

“The same, more or less. Was gonna do it with Nines, but, he's busy or something. Been sulking in the corner watching people kick the shit out of each other for the past hour.”

“Aww, he's already moving on?”

“Woah, someone's got an attitude and a nose in other people's business,” Gavin snapped. “No, he hasn't. He's doing some...bizarre-o android retcon. Been scoping out the fighters all day and making some notes for next month's fight. I dunno what's gotten into him but after last night, he's been losing his mind.”

“You took him to the pits!?” Tina asked, dropping her sweatband onto the ground and fumbling to grab it several times, dusting it off in a dramatic fashion and sighing. “I thought he hated that shit?”

“Guess not. He bumped into Connor and I guess Anderson was there. Hate to admit it, but Connor's got some real talent with scoping out wolves. Unfortunately, he's still a green-eared idiot and doesn't know how to command one worth shit. If Nines hadn't been there last night, we'd probably be at a Last Radio Call right now and sobbing over his fucking casket.”

“Pft. To think he got the Lieutenant as a fighter, even after his son was...” Tina shook her head, sifting through her bag and returning with two granola bars, handing them upwards to Gavin.

“The hell's this, Mom?” he teased.

“Tina thought it would be nice if we brought you some snacks. Forgive us, we didn't think you'd be joined by a second.” Noah's voice piped up, the soft lilt of it almost drowned out by the loudness of the gym. Gavin waved one behind his shoulder and felt it get ripped out of his hands quickly with a 'yoink!' from Leo, the package being torn instantly to shreds.

“Speaking of, the hell were you last night?” Tina asked. Leo looked down at her from a mouthful of granola and tucked it into his cheek.

“Wush bishy,” he managed. Pointed at the windows towards the east and swallowed some of his bite. “Wasn't at the main pit, was at one of the smaller ones downtown. Why? Don't tell me you were gonna bank on Manfred the Manwolf, baby?”

“First off, terrible name. Second off, I was, but my ride dipped out and I was stuck at home, so now you jerks better bust your asses this month. I can't afford to have rent be late again—literally.”

“Aww, hear that? Chen's worried you're gonna lose to _Anderson_ ,” Leo teased, raising his hands up into claws and making a loud, childish roar. Gavin reached back with his leg in a blind kick and missed Leo, who laughed and avoided it, slapping his leg away and sitting down on the stool at the edge of the ring.

“I ain't gonna fucking lose. Haven't since I got this beauty,” he said, gesturing to the gnarled, bright scar on the bridge of his nose. It had faded some over the years but was still a warm, smoldering red. “Not gonna lose anymore to some drugged-out wolves.”

“Hey, that was in the past, man, nobody blames you for it.” Tina spoke softly, failing to hide the concern lacing her words.

“No, but I do!” he snarled, biting on his lip to keep himself from baring his fangs in anger. He shut his eyes and inhaled slowly for some composure. In for a few seconds, out through his nose for more. “If fucking Anderson wasn't on the Red Ice case then, I might not even be here.”

“Yeah, well, here you are,” Tina said, gesturing to his entire body and pulling a chair close. Noah said something to her and Tina nodded, watching her walk off towards Nines. “Besides, don't you guys have, like, super healing? When was the last time you had a hickey?”

Gavin blinked lazily before snorting inwards and building up some snot. Tina laughed and squealed, kicking her feet and shouting at him to stop.

“Yeah, well, fast healing doesn't mean shit when I'm knocked an inch from my life, dipshit, can't heal when I'm out cold. Why do you think I got all scarred up?”

“You haven't tried cleaning your wounds? Or showering, you fucking reek.”

“Funny thing about deodorant, it doesn't work when you're melting it off lifting weights and sparring. You should try it someday.”

“What, exercise? Pass. I don't need to slug the son of a legendary painter to feel good about myself.”

Gavin smirked. “But punching the brother of the man who created your battery-operated girlfriend does?”

Tina's smile dropped instantly. “Move over, I'm coming up.”

“Why? Gonna kick my ass, Chen?”

“I'm gonna fucking try!”

“Get him, babe!” shouted Noah from the end of the room, clapping her hands together in a giddy attempt and glancing upwards at Nines expectantly. His LED flickered yellow for a few seconds before dimming to blue, pushing his way through the crowd to come watch as well. Noah hid a small fist pump behind his large back and followed close behind the wave of bodies he was effortlessly moving aside.

Leo watched Tina duck under the ropes and gave her a dramatic bow, snapping off a piece of granola with his fangs and a smirk, brushing away from her comfort zone knowing it was for the best. He reached up through the ropes and pulled the stool away to leave the arena clear of obstacles. Tina gave him a thankful nod and he responded in kind by lifting his hands palms facing frontwards.

“You're really serious about this?” Gavin asked, planting his hands on his hips. Tina scowled. Reaching back, she tightened her hair and fumbled for her gloves in her dufflebag, being lifted onto the arena by Noah who swiped it away as soon as its contents were emptied.

“You're damn right I am!” she said with a laugh, a quick slash of a smile on her features before she tightened the bindings around her wrists. In the academy, Tina and Gavin quickly magnetized together and became attached at the hips. Sparring was the least of their concerns, and Tina actually gave it her own, giving Gavin a run for his money at the beginning. But Gavin bulked up and Tina grew lithe, ending up trading her power for speed. Since then, they almost always tied.

That is, until she discovered Gavin had been a werewolf and was holding back so as not to hurt her. That spurred Tina on and enraged her, knowing he was going easy on her. She had originally thought it was because she was female, but after seeing the damage he could cause, she realized it was more to keep his best friend safe at the cost of her pride. It didn't stop her from working out in the hopes of still trying to kick his ass.

“Besides,” she said, slamming her fists together with a cushioned 'thwap!', “You're running on fumes after last night, I got a chance for once and I'm not about to dash it.”

“I...” Gavin sighed. She was right—partially. He didn't transform last night and didn't have to deal with the fatigue and muscle aches that accompanied it. He wasn't a walking zombie surviving on caffeine and naps, scarfing down such calorie-high food that Nines was practically cringing with every food he demolished to replenish his energy. Mostly. But that didn't mean he was running on one-hundred percent, either. Even without transforming, he still felt sluggish and leery. Leo had changed, was feeling the soreness, simply doing a friendly match with Gavin to stretch his aching limbs.

Tina, however, was running on her full tank of rage and sadistic nature of praying Gavin would get knocked on his ass by her own fists. Gavin's gray eyes quickly dashed to the side where he saw Noah, all smiles and anxious energy, and Nines, standing impassive as ever, watching. Waiting. _Calculating._ Normally, Nines would be his sparring partner, dredging up every reserve of strength Gavin had to stay standing, but this time, he was allowing Tina to intervene. Why?

Gavin had to wonder what was up those black sleeves of Nines, but he figured there was some sort of sick curiosity in Nines' blue eyes. Maybe it was because he was friends with Tina. Was Nines banking on that sentimentality to make Gavin soft and hold back? Or was it because he knew Tina could dance with Gavin for a long time? He didn't know.

Leo climbed back onto the arena, snagging briefly on the ropes, dusting himself off and standing tall. He glanced between the two while dabbing the back of his neck with his green towel.

“Hey. Mind if I ref?” Leo asked. Gavin and Tina shook their heads. “Awesome, okay, uh, whenever you guys are ready, then.”

Tina smiled, smacking her fists together. Gavin couldn't help but snort and cover a smirk behind his own blue gloves. Tina was a pain in his balls but he loved her. She could be a bit of a bitch and ground his nerves into a fine powder, but he relished their friendship and desperately hoped it would always remain. Wasn't like him to get nostalgic, but the days at the academy were long gone and somehow...

“Hey, Gavvy?” she called, shaking him from his stupor.

“What?” he asked.

“Is Nines gonna call PETA on me when I punch his lapdog in his stupid snout?”

Gavin swung quickly, Tina narrowly dodging it and trying to stave off her laughter. “Is that a yes? A no? It's so hard to tell when you're not _snarling_ insults at me for once!”

“Fuckin'--” Gavin stepped back, a quick, cold gust of wind brushing through his sweaty scruff from Tina's rapid suckerpunch, “--stand still so I can hit you, Chen!”

“No chance!” she yelled back, bouncing on the balls of her feet and swinging again. Gavin shielded the hit with his forearms, the momentum knocking his arms back into his chest. He slipped his feet back on the mat and steadied himself, quickly striking in a counter. Tina recoiled and lost her footing, hopping several times to ground herself.

From there, it was a serious match for a while, blows being traded and blocked or dodged expertly from both ends. It took everything in Gavin to not glance towards the two androids watching on the sidelines, blue eyes watching their every move. Tina swung and hit the meat of Gavin's shoulder, blasting his arm downwards, and, seeking her opportunity, she slammed her fist down, getting the back of his head.

The punch wasn't particularly powerful but the force jerked his body downwards, quickly landing on his knees and swinging his leg out in a sweep, knocking her down with him. She hit the mat with a pained yelp, gasping for a breath that wouldn't come, drawing her knees up and planting her feet firmly on the ground. Gavin stepped over her, placing the knuckled tip of his gloved hand to her sternum.

“You good?” he asked, watching her gasp and sputter for breath. She managed a weak nod before jolting her arms up lightning-fast, snatching his arm down and bringing his body to the mat in a sloppy roll. He reached down with a free hand to catch himself but she was quicker, grabbing his arm between her thighs and rolling so his body crumpled under itself. Arm drawn back behind his body, pressed neatly to his spine. A cop maneuver. The anger surged within him and roiled deep within his veins with a thickness he practically felt rolling down his muscular back in waves and, with a small shout, he rolled the other way with enough strength to send her toppling. It was sudden enough to get her to loosen her grip and he turned, straddling her waist atop her back and drawing her arms up, biceps squeezing them in place.

“I-I can't fuckin' tap out if you have my arms, idiot!” she snarled, turning her head enough to glare at him. Gavin just raised an eyebrow and dropped one arm, keeping the other tight to his damp chest. Her arm hit the mat pitifully with dead weight and she tapped it once with a scowl.

“You know,” Gavin helped Tina up and gave her a clap on the back, “Maybe don't hit the guy who's still running on adrenaline from his fight five minutes before you walked in.”

“Fuck yourself, Reed,” she glared, but her face softened almost instantly into a smile. “Yo, Manfred, square up, asshole, I'm not letting you go this time.”

“What!?” Leo raised his hands defensively. “Tina, you KNOW I'm feeling like shit right now and---”

“Now I am, too, and if anybody's gonna get my frustration dealt upon them, it's gonna be you. You're not afraid to hit a girl.” Tina turned her head to Gavin and blew him a kiss, getting an irritated snarl and his hand slapping hers away.

“Yeah, well, I'm not about to fight your android for your love,” he countered.

“It's fine, she doesn't like dicks anyways!” Tina replied, bringing herself to the center of the mat. Gavin rolled his eyes and slipped between the ropes slinging his towel around his neck and wiping at his forehead. Nines sidled up to him, white jacket giving him the semblance of the ghost he was.

“Did you have a good time?” the android asked, handing Gavin his water bottle. Gavin replied in kind with a small grunt, sucking down a good third of the bottle with large gulps before gasping on a fresh breath.

“Guess so. Ain't the same when you're...” he glanced down at his gloved hands. “Handicapped.”

“You would prefer to be transformed.” Nines said.

“Well, yeah, I feel fuckin' limited when I can only punch and kick.”

“At least you know how I feel all of the time. My strength is only released at around ten percent of its full force unless needed. Though I cannot fathom how it feels for you, knowing you cannot 'let loose'. “

“Got it,” Gavin said, nodding the android towards the showers. “It's like walking but knowing you need to sprint somewhere top speed, y'know? Even in the cage fights it's...empty.”

“Because you are not in control.”

“...yeah.” Gavin fiddled with the water knobs until he built up a hot steam, stripping from his clothes and leaving them on a small crop along the wall where it was dry. He stepped into the water and hissed, the heat hitting his aching muscles. Instinctively, he rubbed the back of his neck where a color would have most certainly be last night if he fought. He could practically feel the cold weight ghosting around his throat. “So...”

“So what?”

“So...are we gonna register this month?” Gavin asked, flattened his wet hair against his scalp. Nines said nothing, that same, cat-like slow blink on his face. Thinking. Money wasn't the issue with them; Gavin's house wasn't expensive and rent and bills were always paid with a small amount leftover. Add that to Nines' payments, and they were comfortable. Thirium was cheap enough to buy since it was supplied to him, all they really needed was groceries for Gavin's high-calorie diet, his internet bills, and small pleasantries like soap and toothpaste. He couldn't understand why Gavin was so dedicated to needing to pit fight. He had something to prove but Nines didn't know what.

Perhaps it was his half-brother, Kamski, he was trying to get closer to. The man was famous worldwide, nobody could pretend they hadn't heard the name. Was Gavin also vying for fame and glory? Nines glanced over at Gavin who was currently soaping up. No, that didn't seem like him. Gavin loved attention—positive or not—but trying to be this prized pit fighter seemed to be the wrong way to go about it.

He had known that Gavin had gotten royally hurt years ago, saved by Hank Anderson during a Red Ice bust. The stuff had been used to help calm down werewolves, a sort of medicated state. While it got normal humans high, it helped bring werewolf energy down and even alleviate some of the aches and pains when the moon grew fat in the sky. Gavin had found a warehouse that sold it to see if the rumors were true and ended up getting in the middle of a gang war drug bust, only made worse when he was knocked on his ass, DPD badge slipping from under his shirt and skidding on the floor in full view.

Gavin tipped his head down and washed the shampoo from his hair, water running down his forehead and making the scar across the bridge of his nose glisten. That had been a penalty for his curiosity. There were another two long scars raking down his spine, just as gnarled and red as the nose one. Claws. They had been from claws. Nines didn't need to know whose they were from; he recognized them at the pit fight last night: they had been Hank's. Ironically, Hank had saved Gavin from the Red Ice deal gone wrong, but Gavin had saved Hank as well, when the man had first shifted.

An accident on the job, bit by a 'psychopath'. It only took a few days before Gavin realized Hank's scent had changed slowly, almost completely. Less human, more natural. A hint of pine, balsa wood, and soil. He always came to work smelling like his dog but this had been different. Gavin had approached Hank and asked him when he had been bitten and Hank pushed it off, got angry. It wasn't until a bar fight went wrong did Gavin notice the man start to tremble--physically ripple--and Gavin intervened against his better judgment. It ended up with the bar evacuated and in shambles, covered in broken glass and barstools, the scent of liquor and wines thick in the air. Gavin hadn't accounted just how big Hank would probably get and ended up with claws embedded in his back so deeply they almost sliced through bone.

That was a year ago.

Hank since then became withdrawn. Drank more to forget the horrible things he had done, drank away the remnants of his teenage son, dead and frozen in a freezer somewhere by androids, drank away the wife who had, in an argument, called him a monster, and that was before he was growing fur and an extra three feet every full moon. Gavin wondered how bitter the taste on his tongue must be now.

Connor had tried, of course, to alleviate things. Learned all he could about lycanthropy, didn't scold Hank's diet towards the full moons—though he certainly had to bite his damn tongue—did his best to keep Sumo safe at the precinct while the change happened. Hank was normally let go to the woods or, in severe cases, locked up in the interrogation cells, further away from the moon's harmful effects.

Gavin was born this way, didn't need to worry about losing control unless his anger got the best of him. Hank was turned, never got the chance to train his body and adjust. The collar had helped, the fights had calmed him down slowly over the year but it wasn't a permanent fix. Never would be. Hank was too proud to come to Gavin for help and being the only werewolves in the precinct made his options limited. So, Hank did it alone. Gavin somewhat enjoyed watching the man self-destruct as the calendar's pages got torn off the wall. The man he idolized was suddenly in his position: angry, unapproachable, difficult to tolerate and irritable. And for once, around this time of the month, Gavin was suddenly the MVP of the bullpen, being invited to lunch, being asked for his detective advice and more.

Even Nines had stepped away from the Lieutenant, saying: “If this habit continues, he may be considered too dangerous for the Lieutenant position. There is a high chance the title will need to be passed down.”

That spurred Gavin on. His usual workload being done in record time. He fucked around at work, sure, but nobody could deny he was a workaholic, making sure his papers were signed and stamped, all the evidence neatly filed away. He'd have to make sergeant first and then continue up the ladder. With his werewolf senses, cases had come to him easily. The scent of the perpetrator was a bright as a house aglow in Christmas lights; they may as well have stained the air with colors.

Gavin wasn't above using his little gift, either. Literally growling, struggling to hide his eyes glowing, and even clawing at the evidence tables when folks got difficult. Sure, it was a huge breach of power and while it generally only worked on humans and androids, some werewolves weren't too keen on a werewolf that wasn't shackled to a table starting to 'get hairy'. There weren't such things as 'alpha' dynamics, but no werewolf could deny how helpless they felt tied to a table when their interrogator was struggling not to wolf out. But hey—it got him the answers he needed and somehow, it began to turn Nines on.

He was built for interrogation, and seeing his lover practically go feral on every man, woman or android that went into the basement chambers for questioning? He had to admit it made his body run hotter. Ignoring the fact that he liked to hear Gavin's whimpers, howls, and growls muffled into a pillow. When he had learned about Gavin's plight, he brushed it off at first and then grew addicted. Humans turning into giant wolves and keeping their intelligence? It was unheard of. Androids were considered a threat once but not humans, turning into beasts? Kettles and pots being black.

The showers squeaked off and Nines blinked back to life. Gavin toweled down quickly and threw on some clean clothes, stepping from the showers with his android in tow. The ride home was quiet, Gavin practically slumped in the passenger's seat. Nines glanced over quickly and his affirmations were correct; Gavin was falling asleep. It took everything in him to not hit the nearest pothole and wake the man up, but he decided to not stoop to Gavin's level and take the side roads that were calmer.

Gavin managed to get into the house and collapsed with a groan on the couch. Nines took to starting the laundry and begin dinner, the sudden gasp of Gavin turning into a sigh and the man was out like a light, sprawled on the couch and an arm dangling off the side, face first into the cushions and the epitome of grace. Lemon pepper chicken thighs and garlic sauce it was. Gavin's favorite treat. While Nines measured out the ingredients and oiled the skillet, he watched the previous fights in his head, rewinding and watching in slow motion. The way Hank's muscles rippled under his shaggy, silver fur, the snap of his fangs against Todd's neck and haunches, the crescent shape of his claws.

He cross-examined that with Gavin's own form. Lithe, smaller than Hank by far, but powerful. The dark browns and creams of his pelt, the scars under his fur. The way Gavin practically twisted and flipped in the air to avoid swings of other wolves. Clamping his fangs down and snarling, voice deep, rolling his thick neck and trying to sever limbs if he could. Gavin fought to win, using his brains. Hank fought to win, using his bulk. Both viable options though it only mattered depending on who their opponent was.

Nines had taught Gavin how to read his enemy in a fight, and while Gavin had field experience from being a cop, he lacked the feral ferocity other werewolves had. Against a born wolf, Gavin was unmatched. Against a bitten one, who acted irrationally, Gavin would most certainly lose in many cases. Nines seasoned the chicken and worked on the sauce. Without realizing, he was rewatching old footage of Gavin's first transformation in his presence. The way he shuddered, muscles dancing and scratching at the surface of his skin, aching to be freed.

Gavin had tried to steady himself against the couch but had slipped and landed on his side, kicking and moaning pitifully, trying to disentangle himself from his pants with thickening fingers, the belt cutting into him deeply. He had tried to speak then, presumably to ask for help, but as Nines reached down, there was an awful tearing noise and the belt lay limp on the ground with a loud clang. Nines had only managed to slide off one shoe before Gavin's other foot tore through the thick fabric like paper, clawed toes glinting in his living room light.

He recalled Gavin putting an arm over his face, shielding it from view. Unfortunately for him, Nines had a perfect angle on the floor and watched the way his mouth elongated, teeth too big, too numerous for his human mouth, splitting his gums and jaw in rivulets of blood. Gavin scratched frantically at his head, the brown hair thickening, growing longer, shooting from his scalp in wild patches. It was too late for his jeans, now splitting at the seams and covering Gavin in a pathetic attempt of a blanket. Nines didn't bother reaching for the shirt; the fabric was stretched too tight around Gavin's already impressive chest and arms, fur growing through the holes like determined weeds on a sidewalk.

Gavin was kicking out, scratching and scrabbling on the floor for footing he never found, moaning instead as his chest barreled out, lungs too big for their previous prison. A finished snout, teeth gritting in a grimaced snarl, eyes squeezed shut. Even with the fur across his body, Nines noticed the scar across his nose, stretched and bright, the fresh stretch marks lining the skin. He recalled Gavin's eyes cracking open, the grey-green gone and replaced with a bright gold before the wolf's head hit the ground in a low whine. Nines recalled the ticklish feeling across his lap, Gavin's new tail curled uncomfortably in a loop in the cage of Nines' legs.

It took a few moments, then, for Gavin to return to himself, chest heaving, limbs moving slowly and dumbly. A quick glance at Nines and he looked away, muzzle turned down at the mess of clothes on his floor. Gavin's massive paw touched gingerly at the bronze-colored badge on the ground, nose practically touching it and fogging the metal. Seeing his reflection, he growled almost sadly and slunk to the bedroom on all fours. Nines recalled moving to shadow of the wolf and watching it climb onto the bed, spin a few times, and collapse facedown, similar to how Gavin currently lay on the couch.

Though Gavin couldn't speak, he still understood the English language, nodding and shaking his head, pointing, and getting up and grabbing what he needed on two legs or four. Normally, Gavin could control his shifts, but Nines remembered that that day was the day he had learned of Hank's plight, the stress and anger too much for his vessel to contain.

Nines began to stir the sauce, taking the chicken out of the oven. It had been a good forty minutes, now, Gavin would wake up to the smell of the garlic and--

A groan from the couch and the sound of movement. Nines watched from the corner of his vision as Gavin rubbed bleary eyes and yawned, stretching enough to raise the shirt from his belly. He blinked once, twice, and then looked at Nines.

“You let me sleep,” he said, matter-of-factly. “I don't need a nap, should have woke me up.”

“You are easier to deal with when you are quiet,” Nines replied coolly.

“Ha ha, real fucking funny, asshole.” Another yawn, a small scratch of his stomach. “You know I hate when you make that.”

Nines tapped the spoon against the side of the pan and placed it on a napkin. “You absolutely love this meal,” Nines replied again, stirring, spooning lemon juice into the sauce.

“Yeah, well, not when my house smells like garlic for a week. It drives me fucking nuts.”

“You love garlic as well, Reed.”

Gavin scowled, nose twitching. “Whatever. There better be leftovers for tomorrow, or I swear to god, you're getting recycled.”

“Patience, my little yapper,” Nines could feel the murderous intent behind him but Gavin's arms slung instead around his waist and his cheek pressed to his back. There was no squeeze to his arms, no pressed kisses or nibbles to Nines' back. Gavin was exhausted. Nines felt the familiar ping of instability in his processor and the sudden warmth in his belly.

“Go sit down and I will finish this, alright?” he said. Gavin nodded, slunk back to the couch, flopping down dramatically and fumbling for the remote. The TV turned on to a nature documentary but he could tell Gavin wasn't feeling it, too numb to even change the channel. He'd sleep well tonight. God knows Gavin needed it. Even from this far away, Nines could see the bags under his eyes, the way his skin lost his color and was almost pale. Even without a shift, the moon took its toll on him. The restless energy, now expelled from his gym visit, was leaving him teetering on the edge of consciousness.

Nines brought him over a plate and let the man dig in, finishing his meal quickly with a thank you and practically dropping his head to the couch's arm, eyes falling shut and remaining heavily closed. Nines took the liberty of cleaning the dishes and storing the leftovers per Gavin's request for tomorrow, wiping down the counter and stove and sitting beside the man, running his fingers down Gavin's stiff back, getting a soft sigh and silence. Tomorrow, Nines would have a little chat with Connor and Hank.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come yell at me about DBH! @Foxflannel on Twitter.
> 
> Sorry for the small chapter, haven't been in the writing mood lately, but I'll work harder!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still working on Start-up Sequence's chapters, but in the meanwhile, have an AU I'm proud of.
> 
> I'm @Foxflannel on Twitter, come say hello!


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